


Shaken, Not Stirred

by Araine



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araine/pseuds/Araine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Sif is James Bond. Loki is the attractive vixen working for the enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaken, Not Stirred

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely, shamelessly inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nS6ZpOPUoFw) vid. I tried to put as many Bond-isms in there as I possibly could. Sif is wearing [this](http://www.foxgown.com/uploads/product/2013/1/silver-scoop-neck-sleeveless-a-line-floor-length-satin-evening-dress-with-beaded-lace-bodice.jpg) dress.

The museum is a spectacle of marble colonnades and hedges lit by soft yellow lamps. A steady stream of beautiful and fashionable and above all _rich_ guests leave their cars for the valet and promenade to the gala. The soft strains of a string quartet filter out into the night air.

Sif pulls her invitation from her gold clutch, waves it at the security guard. He carries three pistols, only one visible. Big and burly with a crew cut, he’s intimidating—he towers over Sif, and that’s impressive when she’s in four-inch stilettos. He’s got a weakness in his right hip, an old injury.

He looks appreciatively over her silver cocktail dress, gaze lingering on the lace across the bodice—or at least she chooses to believe it’s the lace that draws his eyes.

“Welcome,” he says. Sif smiles and glides past him.

She inscribes a slow circle around the gallery, studying the crowd and looking for exits. What she sees doesn’t inspire confidence—this whole room is a trap designed to stop potential thieves, and every guard carries at least two guns. The glittering gems at the center of the room draw all eyes, the famed six-piece Infinity Stone collection on display for the first time in ten years.

It takes her fifteen steps to see her target; the entire room moves around him, the center cog of a clockwork mechanism. He seems to take up more space than even his broad shoulders can accommodate; his head completely bald at the top and his jaw cut from a cinderblock. He’s surrounded by cronies and hangers-on and escorts. Ronan Kree, both right-hand-man and muscle, plays deference to his master. Two women round out the circle, an icily beautiful redhead and a black woman looking uncomfortable.  

Sif’s mouth curls with distaste. MI6 might not have definitive proof that Mr. Thanos is a terrorist financier, but she’s seen enough to know she hates him already.

She completes her circuit of the room, eyes never far from Thanos, watching the deference of the people around him. She’s almost back to the entrance when she feels a lingering presence behind her, and a light tap on her shoulder.

“Excuse me,” the waiter says, his accent crisp, “Mr. Thanos would like to extend an invitation for you to join him.”

Sif smiles, though her mouth has gone dry. “I would be delighted,” she says, and her fingers tighten around the Walther P99 handgun in her clutch. A place has been cleared for her in Thanos’s inner circle, at his left hand. As she approaches he raises his champagne to toast her.

Sif joins the crowd; smiles. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“When a woman as beautiful as you walks into my gala, I take notice – especially if we’ve never met before.” He has a malevolent charm, a thin veneer of manners covering underlying menace. He signals to the instantly attentive waiter. “Get a drink for miss…”

He trails off, leaving the blank for her to fill in. “Bond,” Sif says, the false name falling smoothly from her lips. “Jaimie Bond.”

“Miss Bond,” Thanos says, gesturing magnanimously to the waiter. “Please. Have a drink.”

“Vodka martini,” she orders. “Shaken, not stirred.”

The waiter bows. “Of course,” he says, and departs to fetch her drink.

Thanos shoos the escorts away; crosses his arms to look at her. His eyes are alarmingly blue.  “So Miss Bond,” he says. “What brings you to my gala?”

“She’ll only lie to you.” Sif’s breath catches in her throat. The voice is smooth as the silk she’s wearing and just as familiar. She turns, trying to pretend like all the air hasn’t just been sucked from her lungs at the sound of his voice, like she hasn’t just been sideswiped by his reappearance. Loki is impeccable in a tailored suit and waistcoat, his black tie complemented by a green-and-gold scarf. It disguises the fact that he’s thinner than when she last saw him, and haunted around the eyes.

His gaze flickers over her, pinning her in place.

“Join us, Loki,” Thanos says. “Are you acquainted with Miss Bond?”

“For many years,” Loki says, lightly, as though they don’t weigh on him as they seem to on her. “Hello Sif.”

She inclines her head. “Loki.” His name is like frost on her lips; they feel numb and cold.

“How interesting,” Thanos says, looking first to Loki and then to her. He leans forward in his chair, fascinated. “I thought you said your name was Jaimie.”

“She lied to you, I’m afraid,” Loki says, looking back to his employer. “Her real name is Sif.”

“We’re all liars here,” Thanos says. “That’s no reason to toss her out.”

Loki’s smile is a vicious curl of his mouth that she’s never seen before. “Would it interest you to know she works for MI6?”

Her heart skips a beat or three. He’s blown her cover so casually, and there’s nothing that she can do, and Loki is staring at her like a cat might a mouse. She hates that look of playful malevolence, almost as much as she hates the idea of him working for a man like Thanos.

Fortunately Thanos seems only amused by this transgression. He’s unlikely to have her shot in such a public place. “How remarkable,” he says. “I suppose MI6 has taken an interest in my operation.”

There’s no point in lying anymore. Loki knows too many of her secrets, and he’s evidently no longer in the habit of keeping them. “I was sent to investigate you,” she says. “And your organization.”

“That’s flattering,” Thanos rumbles. “Though, if you’re undercover and aren’t drawing that little gun in your purse, it means you haven’t found anything yet. I’d be happy to show you around my operation,” He smiles, slow and malevolent, and twirls his champagne flute. It is dwarfed in his fingers. “For the edification of our friends at MI6 if nothing else.”

Sif smiles tightly; calculates. They both know that, tipped to her presence, Thanos won’t show her anything he doesn't want her to see. She still might learn something valuable. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Thanos.”

“I’ll send a car by your hotel in the morning,” Thanos offers. “Perhaps you should join us, Loki. It’s always fortunate to see two friends reunited.”

“I would be delighted,” Loki says. The sound of his voice tugs on that dark pit in her heart. She can barely meet his eyes.

“Tomorrow morning, then,” Sif says, trying to ignore her apprehension. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll show myself out.”

“Sif,” Loki says, soft and quiet, and the look in his eyes shatters her because it’s full of everything they never said, “is that any way to greet an old friend?”

At that moment, as if by fate, the waiter arrives with her drink. Sif takes it mechanically.

“Please,” Thanos entreats her. “You haven’t finished your drink. Far be it for me to keep you from catching up.”

She feels worlds away from Loki already, but she doesn’t dare refuse. “Just one drink,” she murmurs. Loki lays his hand over her offered arm, and her flesh ripples at the touch. In his eyes she can see his amusement at her flinch. He steers her out onto a balcony overlooking the moonlit ocean.

Outside, the string quartet is muted. A balmy wind blows across the ocean. Sif shivers, and pulls away from Loki’s arm. His eyes follow hers, wide and uncertain. She takes a long draw from her drink – it’s good, very good, and it gives her mouth something to do, but Loki doesn’t speak. He looks so extravagantly dressed—she can’t imagine why he would need a scarf _and_ tie. He looks too pale, and too thin.

“I should have known you’d turn up,” she says. “When we didn’t find a body – I should have known.”

“It takes more than a bullet and some water to kill me, Sif,” Loki says, smiling, as if a bullet and some water is all that it was. She remembers the horrible echo of the rifle shot, the way his body arced when it went over, the sight of the churning water below.

She turns away, unable to look at him any longer. “Thor said you went over the edge, Loki, that you—let go. We searched for any sign but eventually, well…”

“You, what? Gave up the search? Held a funeral? Pretended I was just another agent, nameless and dead in service of Queen and Country?”

“Stop that,” she murmurs. He’s just being nasty to provoke her, and she hates it. “You betrayed us—betrayed England.” _Betrayed me._ “That’s all there is to it.”

“And why do you think I did that?”

She doesn’t answer his question. It cuts too close to those uncomfortable truths she’s been contemplating lately. Loki’s hand on her shoulder brings her gaze back to him; the look in his eyes is physical, and she leans into the gravitic motion of his gaze.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Sif.”

Now _that_ is a flat lie. She leans away, crosses her arms. “You tried to kill me.”

“Sif…” he says. His green eyes rake over her, searing and earnest and reflecting the moonlight, and she almost— _almost—_

“Why are you working for Thanos?” she bites out.

He pulls away, masking his gaze in layers of irony. He smiles, and his teeth flash against his lips. “Well, he pays me very well—“

“He’s evil, Loki.” And it is her turn to be so earnest it almost hurts. She wants to grab him by the front of his impeccable suit and shake him until he sees sense. “How can you not see that?”

“Oh?” he says, raising a curious brow. “And sanctimonious MI6 is better? You’ve seen the secrets they keep, even from their own agents—“

“Thanos is a murderer, Loki,” she spits. It’s painfully clear that whatever he is now, he is no longer the Loki she knew. She sets her drink down on the balcony rail. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, and she turns and leaves him out in the cold breeze.

She gives the six Infinity Gems a glance as she exits. They glitter under the gala lights, six colors of the rainbow. Thanos nods to her as she exits; her finger itches to put a bullet right between his eyes. She flees, gathering her Aston Martin from the valet.

Back in her hotel suite she contacts MI6. Thor is her contact, and he picks up immediately. Beside him is Dr. Jane Foster from the Quartermaster’s office. Thor’s shirt is half-unbuttoned and Jane’s hair looks disheveled, but Sif doesn’t have the time—or the heart—for a lecture about inter-office fraternization.

“You’re early,” Thor says, a knot of worry between his brows.

“My cover was blown,” Sif admits, bitterly. She’s had her cover blown before, but not this soon. “It’s alright, I think. Thanos wants to show me his operation tomorrow morning.”

“He’s not going to show you anything incriminating,” Jane reasons.

Sif nods. She came to the same conclusion herself. “I still think it might be valuable. And Thor—there’s one other thing. Loki was there.”

She can see the emotions flicker over Thor’s face. Shock, betrayal, desperate hope. They went through training together, Thor, Loki and Sif. The half-brothers were two of MI6’s most effective operatives—until bad intelligence had led to an ill-advised raid against Jotun Corp that left Thor suspended from active duty. When it came to light that Loki had been the source of the false intelligence, he’d gone rogue and planted a bomb at Jotun Corp that would have leveled the entire building.

“Loki’s alive?” Thor asks. His voice cracks; Jane rests a compassionate hand on his shoulder.

“And working with Thanos,” Sif confirms. She understands too well what he is feeling, judging by that raw ache in her chest.

“Sif, be careful,” Thor says. His brows are drawn, eyes a storm cloud. “Whatever Loki is planning, it can’t be good…”

Sif nods. Smirks. “I can take whatever Loki throws at me,” she says, tossing her hair with a boldness she doesn’t quite feel. Thor seems to accept her bravado, at least.

“Sif,” Jane says. “You remember that ring I gave you?” Sif is wearing the confection of diamond and gold filigree on her finger, dangles it in front of the camera. The scientist nods, pleased. “It’s got a distress beacon implanted inside. If you’re in trouble, just twist the stone and it’ll send a GPS signal with your location and we’ll send a team in.”

Sif smiles. “Thank you,” she says, grateful. The idea of going into Thanos’ company alone isn’t a comfortable one, and it feels better to have a team behind her. She briefs Jane and Thor on what she saw at the gala, going over all the details. They tell her to be careful once more, and then end the call.

Sif cleans her makeup off and then steps into the shower, letting the hot steam seep into her skin and calm her fractured nerves.  Loki lives. Loki lives and is working for Thanos, and it is too much for her. She collapses against the shower wall, hot tears washed away by hot water.

She wishes, selfishly, that he’d stayed dead, instead of returning like a ghost to haunt her. She has no idea how she is going to face him tomorrow, but if she’s ever going to stop Thanos she is going to have to. She pulls her robe off the hook where she left it, wraps the silk around her, and emerges into her suite.

Loki is there, elegantly poised at her table as though summoned out of her fears, eating a chocolate truffle from a box on the table. He’s dressed as he was at the museum, his scarf the only bit of color about him. Sif draws her pistol, cocks and aims it. “What are you doing here?” she demands.

Loki stands, making the act one long and languid movement. He crosses the room towards her, the box of chocolates in his hand. Sif keeps her gun trained on him. If he tries anything, she tells herself, she will shoot.

He smiles at her, breathes a laugh. “It’s good to see you too, Sif,” he says, and he offers the box of chocolates. “I brought these.”

She doesn’t lower the gun. “Stop dodging the question.”

“We didn’t finish our conversation at the museum,” Loki says, entreating her with a smile.

Sif scowls. “It seemed pretty finished to me. Now get out, or I will shoot you.”

Loki smirks. Sif is ashamed of the way it makes her belly clench with desire. “You’re not going to shoot me, Sif,” he says, calm and arrogant. He takes a step towards her, then another, and oh she wants to wipe that smirk right off his face.

“I’m tempted to,” Sif says, aim steady. She takes a step back, and her shoulder presses into the bathroom door.

“You’re not going to shoot me because without me, you have no way to get to Thanos,” Loki says, and damn him he’s right. She’s not going to do anything to jeopardize her mission. Loki moves forward again, and there’s no longer any place to retreat to. His fingers cover her wrist, cool against her skin. Slowly, he lowers her gun until it’s aiming at the floor.

One by one at his coaxing, her fingers come uncurled from the handle. He reaches out, gropes blindly for a moment, and then sets pistol and chocolates on the corner of the bed.

His eyes are still so green. Sif’s breath catches. He’s standing too close, the smell of his cologne is turning her head, and she’s about to make a mistake. She bites her lip, decides she doesn’t care. Right now, she will do anything for one more taste of him.

“Why are you here, Loki?” she asks again. Her breath catches against her desire.  

In answer he presses flush against her. She can feel all the lean lines of him underneath that impeccable suit. His lips brush her ear, and she shudders. “I missed you, Sif,” he says, and he sounds weary, and she thinks of the darkness she first noticed around his eyes. When was it that he last had a night of good sleep?

He pulls away, his lips forming a self-deprecating slant, but Sif is having none of that. She grabs him by his scarf with both hands and crushes his lips to hers. It is not an elegant kiss, nor a calm one. She rakes her teeth over his lips as though she could consume him. He tastes of dark chocolate and a hint of liqueur. His fingers skate up her neck, pulling her closer, finally settling in her hair.

They break the kiss, only to return desperate for more. Sif curls her fingers in Loki’s scarf, dragging him closer by it. He leans into her, using the wall to support them both. His clever fingers find the tie to her robe and pull; fabric falls open to reveal her naked underneath.

Sif breaks the kiss, breathing hard. “Unfair,” she admonishes, and shakes her head.

Loki only leans in, presses a kiss to her earlobe. “When did I promise to be fair?” he asks, and uses the tip of his tongue to trace where her pulse beats in her throat. Sif throws her head back, black hair tumbling over her shoulders.

When Loki palms her breast, she unbuttons his waistcoat and pulls both it and his open jacket from his shoulders violently. The jacket catches at his wrists, on his cufflinks, effectively stopping his ministrations. Loki eyes her balefully and Sif smirks. Dutifully he helps her to undo the cufflinks, first one then the other. He pulls off the jacket and the waistcoat and hangs it on the bathroom door handle.

Sif almost laughs. It’s so fastidious a gesture, and so much like the Loki she knows, and she is struck by how much she has _missed_ him these past months. His lips slant at her mirth. She’s not sure if he’s irritated or amused, she only knows she wants to kiss him.

She reaches out, catches his tie by her fingers and reels him in. Loki comes willingly, bends to kiss her. Languid and unhurried, and his lips coax moans from the back of her throat. Sif works at the knot of his tie until it unravels, but leaves the length of black silk where it is. She’s found both the tie and the scarf rather convenient of late.

When Sif starts on the buttons of his shirt, Loki resumes teasing her with his hands. He strokes her breasts with his thumbs, drawing louder sounds from Sif. His fingers tickle down her ribs, brush over her stomach before finding that sensitive spot on her hip and she gasps. Loki smirks.

Furious with need, Sif flips Loki against the wall. He hits it with a thud, momentarily dazed, and she manages the last few buttons on his shirt. She opens it, knuckles sliding over the taut planes of his chest.

Loki regains himself quickly. He reaches for her, pulls her close. His long fingers ghost over her hips and down to the apex of her thighs. Sif’s breath catches as he presses his fingers into her. He still knows exactly how to touch her so she’s dizzy with it.

She is not quiet, voicing her approval of his clever fingers when he crooks them inside of her, his thumb inscribing loose circles on her clit. She presses eagerly into his hand. She’s lost all ambition of undressing him, instead contenting herself with exploring his exposed chest.

When she comes, she tosses back her head and cries out, heat washing through her. Her thighs are quivering, knees shaking. Loki catches her, one arm wrapped around her waist to keep her from slumping. He chuckles, soft and dark. “So eager, Sif,” he murmurs.

She looks up through her lashes, kisses him, rakes her teeth across his lips. “I think we both know that’s your fault,” she says. “For leaving.”

Loki closes his eyes. When he opens them, he will not look at her, and Sif knows that he has not come back to her. Not really. Maybe not ever. She doesn’t know where he fits into her life any more, or where she fits into his, but she will be damned if she doesn’t make the most of this one night.

She slams him into the wall, kisses him fiercely. He seems surprised, green eyes wide and owlish. Sif pulls his tie and scarf from his neck, tosses them to the ground. She swallows his protest with a kiss, and pulls his shirt from him. Her fingers search out his belt.

She can feel how hard he is already, and when her fingers brush the skin of his stomach she feels his arousal jump.

Loki steers her towards the bed, spurring her onward with kisses until she is sprawled on the pillows. He spares a moment to set the discarded pistol and chocolates on the table. He plucks something shiny from the box of chocolates, brandishing it between two fingers, and Sif realizes that he’s brought a condom with him. She’s not sure if she should applaud him for forethought or be irritated by his presumption.

Sif waits, watching with mute appreciation as he sheds first his shoes and socks then his slacks and underthings. He looks incandescent, unclothed and aroused, so pale that she can almost see the light shining through him, and she _wants_ so much. He folds the slacks over a chair, eyes daring her to comment.

She doesn’t, only lets her robe slide off her shoulders where she balls it up and tosses it away with a savage grin.

Loki stalks over to the bed. He crawls up her body, shoulders rippling like the muscles of some jungle cat. He kisses her knee, then up her thigh, and Sif knows that if she lets him he will bring her to climax again with his tongue, but that’s not what she wants from him right now.

From the look of him, he won’t last very long either.

She bucks her hips into his, impatient. Loki smirks, and it sends fury and desire pouring through her. She drags him into a kiss, rolls him over. He willingly surrenders the condom, lets her apply it, breath shallow and eyes clouded with desire.

He is more than ready for her. Sif sinks down onto the length of him, and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out. It feels good and right and she is home, with his nails scraping against her back and Loki inside her. He thrusts up, sending a shock of lightning right to that coil of heat in her gut, and Sif begins to move.

They find their rhythm with such ease that Sif can almost pretend he hasn’t been away for months, that he never betrayed her, that they don’t exist on opposite sides of a secret war. She only wants to sear his touch into her, so that it might last forever. He reaches between them, finds her clit with his thumb again.

Neither of them last long, as starved for touch as they are. Loki finishes with a fluttering of eyelashes and a long exhale, but Sif has to bite back a scream as her climax cascades through her. She rolls off him, exhausted and sweat-soaked.

Loki reaches out, grabs a lock of Sif’s hair between his fingers, twists it around them until his hand is tangled in inky black tendrils. The look in his eyes pulls at her heart.

“If you’re thinking of cutting it off again—“ she warns.

Loki laughs, though he sounds as if he barely has breath for it. “Do you think so little of me, Sif?”

“I don’t know what to think of you anymore,” she says.

Loki draws his hand away, levers himself up off the bed. He looks sidelong at Sif, green eyes surrounded by darkness, and says, “Neither do I.” Sif lets those words sink deep into her heart, as he retreats to the bathroom to clean himself off. When he returns, she’s still not sure what to make of them.

Loki settles in beside her, kisses the back of her neck languidly. Sif draws a shuddering breath, resisting the hot pain that wells up behind her eyes at his touch. Loki’s lips find her ear, and he whispers urgently.

“Thanos is building a weapon,” he says. He continues caressing her back, plants a kiss on the shell of her ear. “He’s using the Infinity Stones to focus a laser he calls the Gauntlet, powerful enough to take down a building.”

Sif’s breath catches. She does not dare show her alarm. “You’re sure?” she asks, quiet as him.

She can feel Loki nod, fractionally, against her neck. “He keeps it underground, underneath his offices. It’s only accessible from there, or by water.” His laugh ghosts across her ear as a breath, and she can picture his smirk.

Sif knows that she would be a fool to trust him, but she believes he is telling the truth, that this is why he really came here tonight. “Why are you helping me?”

Loki doesn’t answer, only brushes his fingers down her back again.  He kisses the back of her neck, lingering. “I should go,” he murmurs, and she can swear that she hears regret.

_Stay,_ Sif wants to ask him, but she knows that he won’t. She only nods, and waits while he retrieves his clothes. He slips out her door as silently as he came in, and Sif is left alone with a million questions and no answers. She lies awake, thinking of Loki.

Until she hears the whirring of a helicopter blade outside her window and machine gun fire shatters her reverie and Sif has to roll for her pistol to fire back. Nobody ever said this damn job was easy, but, Sif thinks when she base jumps from the roof of the hotel, at least it’s never boring.

**Author's Note:**

> Full cast of this AU:  
> Sif as James Bond  
> Loki as the Bond Boy  
> Thanos as the Bond Villain  
> Ronan, Gamora and Nebula as Henchmen  
> Thor as Moneypenny  
> Jane as Q  
> Odin as M.


End file.
